


Antics in the Cane Field

by dancing_satyr



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Identity Issues, M/M, Post-Reunion Sex, Silly title for a less silly story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancing_satyr/pseuds/dancing_satyr
Summary: James and Thomas share a private moment in the cane field.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned to my dad that I was feeling sad not to have a new Black Sails episode to watch this weekend. He knows I'm obsessed with the show and like to write fanfic—although I would be mortified if he ever actually read a word of my romantic and/or smutty stories and I don't share my work with people I know irl—so he joked that I should write a post–finale story with this absurd and not terribly erotic title. I took it as a challenge and this is the result. I hope you enjoy!

It’s nearing dusk now. The scorching sun has just dipped below the tree line, ushering in a cool breeze that wicks the sweat from their heaving chests. The bird song ebbs away along with the daylight, leaving little noise to drown out the sound of thudding heartbeats and labored breathing as they lay side by side in the long grass. James feels sated but utterly shattered. They are not as young as they used to be, after all.

The twilight lends a surreality to their surroundings that he does not care for. As if intuiting his discomfort, Thomas presses closer to him and takes his hand, weaving their worn and calloused fingers together. If this were a dream, Thomas’s hands would be soft as they were before, as they always were when he dreamt of such things. The thought is enough to make the moment less ephemeral but he does not loosen his grip.

“We ought to go back,” says Thomas with a sigh, “before we’re missed.”

“What happens if we don’t?” asks James somewhat challengingly. Having been given this second chance, they should be more careful. He knows this. He cannot, however, bring himself to feel any more shame about it. If anyone wants to attempt the feat of taking Thomas away from him again, let them try. He likes his chances.

“Probably nothing,” says Thomas calmly, “but Mr. Oglethorpe is not altogether approving of what he calls antics in the cane fields.”

“Antics,” repeats James, failing to suppress a snort. “That is the most charitable euphemism for sodomy I’ve ever heard.”

“Mr. Oglethorpe’s views on the subject are rather charitable, as it turns out. It isn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence behind these gates. Tolerated as long as it is neither seen nor heard.”

“Freedom in the dark,” James murmurs mostly to himself.

“I further suspect that he will be particularly unwilling to press the matter with you,” Thomas says. He pauses in a way he always has when choosing the right words to broach a delicate subject. “He is a rational man who understands that the newspapers are prone to fantastical embellishments, but he is also wise enough to recognize the layers of truth in the legend.”

They have yet to discuss those long years in between and this is the first indication Thomas has given that he knows something of the man James had become, the man he had been. The look Thomas is giving him now says that he knows there is enough of that man left to burn this fucking place to the ground if given half a reason to do so. But that large rough hand enveloping his own gives a squeeze, a tacit acknowledgment that Thomas trusts him not to. James is more grateful for that trust than he can rightly convey.

“I shall hear the tale of your Odyssey soon enough, but I think now is not the time,” says Thomas.

They share a moment of silent agreement before James says, “If I am Odysseus, that would make you my Penelope.”

“I fear I am not so virtuous as good Penelope,” says Thomas, eyes crinkling attractively as he smiles.

James resists the urge to scoff, because to him, Thomas is Virtue personified. Instead of belaboring this point, he turns to rest his head on Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas continues, “When Odysseus returns home to Penelope, he makes love to her on a magnificent bed that he carved with his own hands.”

“My apologies that the cane field is not up to my lord’s standards,” says James, feeling light in a way that he hasn’t in over a decade. “But you’ll recall that I am the son of a carpenter. I may carve a great bed for you yet. I don’t suppose there are any giant olive trees hereabouts?”

Thomas simply laughs in reply, clear and bright and joyful. All that James can do is laugh too, allowing it to bubble up from the depths of him until it breaks free to float up into the dusk.


End file.
